


Flushed

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Morning Sex, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Takeda's gaze is bleary, unfocused as much by sleep as by the lack of his glasses, but Ukai can see the moment he recognizes him in the affection that softens his expression into something warm and sweet and blissful." Ukai wakes Takeda up and then thoroughly distracts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flushed

Ukai wakes up to Takeda on top of him.

This is less suggestive than it could be. In actual fact it’s more of a leg tangled with Ukai’s, an arm stretching across his chest to cling to his far shoulder, a head of dark hair tucked against his neck; Ukai can feel the rhythm of Takeda’s breathing against his shoulder, can hear the slow, steady pace of continuing sleep even as Ukai blinks at the ceiling and waits for full consciousness to come to him. His neck is aching, turned too far to the side to accommodate the weight of Takeda’s head, and he can’t feel the arm pinned under Takeda’s chest but he’s sure the buttons on the other’s shirt are leaving indentations in his skin as little points of discomfort awaiting the return of sensation to make themselves known. If he moves sideways he can likely work himself free without waking the other man, can leave Takeda to curl into the blankets and have breakfast ready by the time he emerges from the bedroom sleep-warm and hazy-eyed.

Ukai does not move sideways. He rolls over instead, turns to push Takeda over onto his side as he twists over him to purr “Sensei” with as much early-morning growl as he can draw out of his throat. Takeda’s breathing shifts, falls out-of-rhythm and into an unconscious whine; Ukai grins as he watches the other’s expression tighten in the first moment of awareness, his mouth shifting into a startled frown before he blinks his eyes open and turns his head towards the sound of Ukai’s voice. His gaze is bleary, unfocused as much by sleep as by the absence of his glasses, but Ukai can see the moment Takeda recognizes him in the affection that softens his expression into something warm and sweet and blissful.

“Ukai-kun,” he says, voice soft on sleep, and then, eyes going wider as his brain catches up: “Keishin, I mean.”

“Morning,” Ukai says, grinning as Takeda blinks himself into clarity, his gaze still lingering on Ukai’s features even as his focus clears and his smile goes wider with more awareness. Ukai can feel sensation starting to come back to his numb arm, pins and needles tingling along it from wrist to shoulder, but he doesn’t pull away; he reaches out with his other hand instead, fits his fingers against the rumpled white of the shirt at Takeda’s hip. “You fell asleep on me.”

“Oh,” Takeda says, eyes drifting to land at Ukai’s mouth as his arm comes up, sketches out the impression of a stretch before his fingers land at Ukai’s shoulder instead, his touch hesitant as if he’s not quite certain of his surroundings. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Ukai growls, fitting his hand in close until the fabric of Takeda’s shirt is pinned between his palm and the other’s skin, leaning in until Takeda’s fingers are steady at his shoulder. “You should be.”

“Sorry--” Takeda starts again, and Ukai ducks over the last few inches to catch Takeda’s lips with his. Takeda makes a startled sound, the second half of the apology dying to a whimper at Ukai’s mouth, and Ukai hums appreciation of the contact. Takeda’s warm under him, his skin still clinging to the odd radiance of sleep until Ukai can feel the heat of him pressed all against his bare chest. It’s Takeda who opens his mouth, the part of his lips an offer to match the fit of his fingers at Ukai’s shoulders, and Ukai takes the invitation, licks against the give of the other’s mouth before fitting against Takeda’s lower lip and sucking pressure into the skin. Takeda makes another sound, an exhale that breaks off into something lower in his throat than the first, and Ukai can feel the shiver of it all down his spine as his body considers some of the many benefits offered by full alertness.

“Do you have plans today?” Ukai asks when he pulls away, drawing back enough to see the flush creeping across Takeda’s cheeks as he slides his hand sideways and spreads his fingers wider across the dip of the other’s spine. Takeda blinks, shakes his head in a visible attempt at coherency, and looks sideways towards the clock before squinting himself into recollection of his absent glasses.

Ukai huffs a laugh. “It’s almost eight.”

“Oh,” Takeda says, relief audible in his tone. “Not for a while.”

“That’s good,” Ukai allows, lets his hand slide lower so he can catch at the edge of Takeda’s shirt and hitch it up over warm skin. “No hurry to get out of bed, then?”

“Oh,” Takeda says; then, as Ukai’s fingers settle under his shirt against the curve of his back: “ _Oh_ ” like he’s only just realizing what Ukai is suggesting. “ _Yes_.”

“There is a hurry?” Ukai teases, grinning at the way Takeda’s focus is sliding away and the way his back is curving up to bridge the slight space between them.

“Yes,” Takeda says again. “No. I mean. No, there’s no hurry, we can--” He runs up against the words, trips over his own too-hasty tongue, and Ukai laughs as Takeda flushes, ducks in close to save him with the slow slide of another kiss.

“Stay in bed,” he offers when he draws back, drags his fingertips away and around to find the top button on Takeda’s half-done shirt, to push the plastic free of its buttonhole with somewhat more flair than the motion really requires. Takeda’s inhale is audible, catches into the outline of anticipation as Ukai’s fingers shift, and when Ukai looks back up Takeda is watching his hand, the myopic focus of his gaze drawn close as a touch at the other’s fingers. It makes Ukai smile, keeps the pleasure lingering at his lips and his own gaze lingering on Takeda’s features as he works down the front of the shirt, freeing the loose fabric from its fastenings until he can push the edges free of Takeda’s warm-flushed skin.

“Keishin,” Takeda starts, but he sounds shaky and Ukai doesn’t wait to hear what he might be about to say. He ducks in instead, kisses against the edge of collarbone bared by the open shirt, and while Takeda takes a startled breath at the contact Ukai’s fingers slide across the motion in his chest to catch the pattern of it at his palms. Takeda’s fingers flex at his shoulder, a hand draws up to stroke through the tangle sleep has made of Ukai’s hair, and Ukai hums pleasure over Takeda’s skin and draws sideways to press his mouth to the dip between Takeda’s collarbones.

“Ittetsu,” Ukai says, practicing the lingering novelty of the syllables on his tongue against the rising warmth of Takeda’s skin. He lets his fingers draw down, across the quivering tension in Takeda’s stomach and to the elastic of a waistband; Takeda gasps an inhale, arches in closer, and Ukai lets his hand fall sideways, braces at Takeda’s hip so he can press his thigh against the other instead. That gets him a groan, a full-body shudder that jolts electricity through him to match, and Takeda’s fingers seize hard at his hair, brace at Ukai’s shoulder as his hips arch up to grind against him.

“Keishin,” Takeda breathes, the name forming as easily in the purr of his voice as if he’s woken up saying it for years. “Please.”

“I know,” Ukai says, feeling his blood going to fire, feeling the heat of arousal catch and flare under his skin. “You don’t have to beg.”

“But I’m so good at it,” Takeda manages, and Ukai laughs, comes back up to kiss the shy satisfaction off Takeda’s mouth as he shifts his weight to press in closer with the leg he has angled between Takeda’s.

“I know you are,” Ukai says, hearing the way his voice has caught rough on the friction in his throat, the way his tone is going hotter to match the ache hardening his cock against Takeda’s hip. When he rolls his hips forward in a slow grind of heat he can see Takeda’s gaze slide up and out-of-focus, can see the thrum of unvoiced sound that shivers through the other’s throat. “But you don’t have to.” His hand slides down, his fingers catching under elastic and across bare skin, and Takeda’s lips come open, his fingers tensing expectation against Ukai’s skin. “I’m going to give it to you anyway.”

“Keishin,” Takeda says again, slow, like he’s tasting the syllables on his tongue, and then Ukai drags his hand sideways and Takeda’s head tilts back, his voice falling around an “ _Oh_ ” as Ukai’s fingers drag across his length. His knees fall wide, his forehead creases as if he’s concentrating, and Ukai leans in close to kiss at the gasp of air on Takeda’s lips as he curls his fingers into a steady grip and draws up over the other’s length. Takeda shudders a reaction, the sound going incoherent over Ukai’s tongue, and Ukai tips his head to press in closer, to catch the vibration off Takeda’s lips as he fits his fingers into a better grip. He’s going harder with every stroke of his hand, the flush of Takeda’s response spurring his own, until when he draws back he’s as warm as the other, his own skin flushed to match the color cresting bright all across Takeda’s cheekbones.

“Give me one sec,” he tells Takeda as he draws away from the heat of the other’s skin to rock back over his knees, lets his hold slide free so he can reach for the bottle alongside the bed while he works the lingering numbness out of his other arm. A drag of his hand knocks his hair back from his face, a shift of his knee moves him sideways over the bed, and when he draws his fingers against Takeda’s hip to strip his briefs off Takeda matches him, pushing at the elastic as fast as he brings his knees up to draw free of the fabric. Takeda’s whole face is red by the time Ukai is pouring liquid over his fingers, his skin gone dark with a combination of arousal and embarrassment, but he’s still hard against his stomach, the head of his cock shiny-slick with anticipation.

“Ittetsu,” Ukai says as he leans down to brace himself over Takeda, to tilt near enough for a kiss or a smile or a touch as his fingers fit between the other’s legs. “You okay?”

Takeda reaches out, one hand landing at the back of Ukai’s neck and the other bracing at his arm, a hold rather than an attempt to stop or slow. “Yes,” he says, eyes wide and warm on Ukai’s features, the word breathless on heat in his throat. “Yes, please.”

Ukai grins. “I told you you don’t have to beg,” he points out, but he’s moving without waiting for further response, easing his touch inside Takeda slow and carefully. He can see the separate shudders of reaction print themselves across Takeda’s face: the first shiver clear in eyes gone wide and gold, the heat of the friction in parted lips, the drag of pressure in the backwards tilt of his head. Takeda’s flush darkens, his eyelashes flutter, and when he makes a sound it’s a groan, something low and quivering up from the tremor Ukai can feel in the other’s thighs, in the tension winding itself along the length of his spine. Ukai pushes in deeper, watches Takeda’s expression go soft and warm and melting as he goes, like he’s undoing all the ties holding Takeda to propriety with the touch of his fingers.

“God,” he says as he draws his hand back, slides in again to a dip of dark eyelashes and another half-voiced moan cracking in Takeda’s throat. “You’re really beautiful, Ittetsu.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Takeda gasps, voice breaking open on the slide of Ukai’s touch, his hold tensing in Ukai’s hair as the other man tries a second finger, thrusts in slow at the pace set by the flush drawing itself over Takeda’s cheeks. “Keishin.” Takeda’s hips come up, arching off the bed like he’s reaching for more, and Ukai groans wordless response and pushes in farther, angling his fingers wider to stretch Takeda open. “You’re...so are you.”

Ukai coughs a laugh, a cut-off sound that rumbles against the inside of his chest even when he’s fit the noise of it into the tug of a grin at his lips. “Hey now, sensei,” he purrs, leaning in close and watching Takeda’s focus follow him down, the heat-haze of his vision not enough to stop him staring at Ukai’s mouth. “There’s no need for polite compliments.”

“I’m not,” Takeda says, cutting himself off with another arch of his back as Ukai’s fingers slide forward on another thrust, as Takeda’s legs tense to tilt him up to meet the friction of the motion. “I’m not being polite.” He falls back to the bed as Ukai draws back, his legs shaking and his face flushed, and Ukai slides his fingers free entirely, reaches to push the edge of his boxers down as Takeda trembles under him with his knees wide and his cock catching sticky against his stomach. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah,” Ukai says, affectionate and tolerant, because he doesn’t believe the words as truth but he believes Takeda thinks they are, he can hear sincerity in the catch of the other’s voice and can see it in the breathless glow of his eyes. He braces his knees between Takeda’s, looks down for a moment to watch the drag of his slick fingers over his cock before he settles his hold at the base and shifts his weight forward closer to the other as he looks back up. Takeda makes a faint anxious noise, something that would be a whimper if there were less heat on it, and then there’s a hand at Ukai’s hip, fingers steady and certain even as Takeda swallows back a breath of tense anticipation. Ukai can see Takeda’s eyelashes flutter through adrenaline, can see the motion of his throat working down tension as he watches their bodies align; then Takeda looks up, eyes wide and lips parted, and Ukai groans a helpless exhale of sound and rocks himself forward. There’s a catch of friction, Takeda gasping an inhale of response, and then they’re sliding together, Ukai’s cock pressing into Takeda as the other shudders himself to heat under him.

“ _God_ ,” Ukai groans, feeling himself flare hot, feeling the tremor of tension in his still-tingling arm. “ _Ittetsu_.” Takeda doesn’t answer; he’s gasping for air, eyes shutting like the weight of his lashes is too much to bear, and Ukai is ducking closer, catching the rush of breath off Takeda’s lips as he draws his hand up over the other’s hip and across to the flushed weight of his cock. Takeda shudders at the first contact, his body drawing tight under and around Ukai, but then Ukai strokes up over him and Takeda exhales a moan, hooks his leg around the other’s hip, and then there’s no space left for deliberate consideration of anything. They’re too close, Takeda is too warm and Ukai is too distracted, his attention is skidding out on the color staining Takeda’s cheeks to red and the heat dampening his skin with a sheen of sweat.  It’s pure reflex that keeps his hand moving, the steady stroke of his grip falling into pace with the thrusts of his hips until they’re both gasping at the same time, until Takeda’s shuddering exhales are taking the place of the groans lodged against the tension in Ukai’s throat. Takeda’s arms are around Ukai’s shoulders, now, his fingers catching and knotting into the other’s hair, and he’s gasping for air, whimpering through each inhale like it’s a battle as Ukai feels him go tense and straining with the threat of pleasure. Ukai’s electric, his whole body tightening in anticipation, but it’s his hand he’s focused on, the drag of his fingers over the heat of Takeda’s cock holding his attention so he can keep his focus from the friction tight around his own length, so he can push back the inevitable ache rising low in his stomach with each thrust. It’s a delay at best, and not an indefinite one; he can feel his control slipping, his focus dragging out of his grasp, and then Takeda chokes “ _Keishin_ ” and Ukai goes instantly hot in anticipation.

“Ittetsu,” he says, but it comes out as a growl, as a purr of encouragement pulling free of his chest and hot at his lips. Takeda’s eyes open, his gaze draws sharp and focused on Ukai’s expression for a moment, and Ukai can feel the expectation going taut between them, can read the promise of satisfaction in the hazel-gold of Takeda’s eyes.

“Keishin,” Takeda says again, voice cracking as his fingers slide against Ukai’s shoulder and trail heat in their wake. “I’m going--” and he cuts himself off with a moan, sounding almost startled as he shakes into orgasm under Ukai’s touch. Ukai can feel the heat at his fingers, the sticky pulses of Takeda coming over his hand and his own stomach, but he doesn’t let go; he just keeps stroking, drags Takeda through his orgasm as his own vision hazes into white, the shocked-soft expression on Takeda’s face pushing him over the edge at last. The pleasure comes slow and sweeping, spreading up Ukai’s spine and out into his shoulders, pulling a wordless note of relief from his throat, and Takeda is still shaking under him, the aftershocks of the other’s pleasure enough to draw Ukai’s cresting through wave after wave until time goes endless, until he’s lost to everything except the heat of his blood and of Takeda under him.

It’s some time later that Ukai hears Takeda take a breath, listens to the shudder of the exhale over the other’s lips before he manages to lift his head and blink himself back into focus. Takeda’s staring at the ceiling, gaze hazy and cheeks still clinging to the flush of pleasure that colored them scarlet before; he looks as warm as he feels, a little bit dazed and a lot shaky, glowing from the inside out with the happiness that Ukai can always find in the curve of Takeda’s lips.

“Are you going to be late?” Ukai asks as he eases his hold away, his voice rougher than he expects on the grate of heat still clinging to his throat.

Takeda blinks, tips his head down so he can focus on Ukai. His smile is dreamy, warm and drifting unthinking across his lips, but his touch is steady when his hand slides down from Ukai’s neck to brace at the other’s shoulder.

“No,” he says, certain in the statement as his touch urges Ukai down to draw him into a ghosting kiss more accidental friction than deliberate contact. He shifts his leg at Ukai’s hip, adjusting the angle rather than pulling away, and Ukai settles sticky fingers at Takeda’s waist, under the open fall of his shirt and against the pattern of his pleasure-warm inhales. “We have time.”

Ukai smiles. “Good,” he says, and turns his head to kiss Takeda into another flush.


End file.
